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As a child, I used to believe that a golden pot exists at the point where the rainbow cuts the earth. Thanks to adulthood and Science, my imagination was shattered when I learnt that a rainbow is nothing but scattered light. Now, years later, when I got hold of Cecelia Ahern’s Where Rainbows End, I felt like I was holding the golden pot. I wondered what made me love the story so much. I think the following reasons pretty much sum up what I felt while I was reading it.

It is an epistolary bildungsroman (Yes, I’m a nerd and I describe stories with terms like that).

Most of the story is set in a small town (I’m a small town girl!).

It has wonderful descriptions of the natural and man-made beauty of Ireland (I have always had a thing for Irish culture and literature).

Food and wine are mentioned a lot in detail…from their colour and texture to the emotions they arouse as they slide down the throat (I’m a foodie).

Rosie is as miserable as I am, throughout the story, failing at everything. (Yes, I’m a sadist…I connect more with the ugly step-sisters, despised witches and neglected fairy godmothers than with Cinderella and Snow White).

Rosie goes through a lot but she is not a damsel in distress waiting for someone to come and save her. She takes charge of her life, embraces her mistakes and makes them her strength. And doesn’t expect the modern Mr. Darcy, the ‘nice’ Alex to rescue her (That’s my feminist side giving a triumphant smile).

The story suggests the universal truth…that all nice guys fall for bitches and behave like total jerks when the woman who actually loves them waits for them to realize it. Alex gets ditched by all the bitches he falls for, though. (Told you, I’m a sadist).

Rosie gets to grow as a person and change her earlier misconceptions about people and things (I believe in embracing change, routine and monotony are toxic).

There was no instance where I felt the story was just dragging on for no particular reason (I’m very impatient and get bored very easily).

It made me believe, once again, that I can find golden pots where rainbows end and that true love exists (yes, I also happen to be a hopeless romantic who wants to believe in love and happy endings).

P.S. One thing I understood after reading the story is that one should never wait for men to ‘understand’ love. It is always better for women to take the initiative and ‘confess’ their love. Men will only realize it when they have lived half a century.